


Vice

by anemptymargin



Category: Mock the Week RPF
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Smoking, smoking fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-06
Updated: 2011-09-06
Packaged: 2017-10-23 11:40:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/pseuds/anemptymargin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed enjoys a Sunday afternoon alone in a hotel room with his last cigarette and a wank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vice

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely a fetish piece more than a typical smut piece, and I know this isn’t for everyone. However, if this is your cup of tea by all means enjoy! I know I do.
> 
> Prompt: [mtw_fest](http://mtw-fest.livejournal.com/1246.html?thread=35550#t35550) \- Anon has a smoking fetish and an Ed fetish. Maybe a little Ed smoking during sex?

Another hotel room for Edinburgh Fringe, and for the first time since he started attending in one capacity or another, it wasn’t shared. It was small, too-warm, cramped, and smelled of stale lager and cigarettes like the back of a pub… which he didn’t mind at all. Really, it only made it easier to justify not going to the pub and just staying in to get pissed and attempt to read.

 

With a gentle grunt, he leaned back against the narrow bed’s pillows, a warm can of Stella in one hand and a crumpled pack of fags in the other – eventually he’d walk down to the newsagent and pick up replacements, but for mid-afternoon on a Sunday it would do to have his last. After downing the final few ounces off the can, he set it on the bedside table with a few of his empty buddies and found his Zippo nestled against a protein bar wrapper. Briefly, he considered calling someone but it really seemed too much of a chore to be bothered. Instead, he leaned back against the headboard and fished the last straggler from his battered pack – tucking it between his lips before lighting it with a sharp tug of air.

 

The warm burn of smoke against his throat, hitching at his lungs with a familiar pull, calmed him. Closing his eyes, he let his shoulders relax against the unrelenting wooden plank they called a headboard and held that first hot drag for a long moment before directing what little remained into a thin gray stream followed by a soft sigh. Mmm, as far as vices went, it wasn’t so bad. Didn’t make him act like an arse like a few too many drinks, nor did it come with the problems of loose women… or men. A good smoke would be unlikely to lead to getting lost and taking the wrong train because the number sounded right and you’d forgotten where you’re going anyway. Like a good wank, it didn’t come with a hangover or having to pretend to be friends with someone you can’t stand simply because they happen to be the one selling you illegal substances. In fact… one good and mostly harmless vice deserved another.

 

With hard drag, he rolled the smoke over the back of his tongue – letting it filter up his sinus and through his nose as he exhaled with a soft murmur. His free hand quick, he managed to open his button fly and struggle out of the skinny jeans until he was once more easily relaxing against the bed, only in his pants. Groaning around the filter, he parted his thighs wide – legs stretched out in front of him as his fingertips teased the front of his cotton shorts, gently cupping his flaccid cock and squeezing as he let his imagination wander.

 

In his fantasy, he’d just come off stage at a gig – a big one that had gone really well. He felt high, giddy, almost floating backstage where his mate Dara was waiting for him to finish the set like he sometimes did, lit fag ready for him in one hand and the other pressing him into an empty dressing room and locking the door.

 

That did the trick. He inhaled sharply again, letting it settle in his lungs and then billow out of his mouth as he moaned, the squeeze turning into a solid stroke as his cock responded to the mental image of Dara sinking to his knees, thick fingers yanking down his jeans and mouth enveloping his cock as a reward for a set well done.  “God…” He groaned into the small room, dipping his hand under the waistband to take full control with a tight and eager grip.

 

He could remember Dara’s mouth acutely, the way his tongue stroked eagerly over his cock – looking at him with a gentle smile as he took each rough thrust against the back of his throat. The sense of utter relaxation that came with getting a suck job and smoke after a damn good show. Slowing his strokes, he tapped the ash off on the rim of his empty lager and took another draw, the ambient smoke burning his eyes as he carefully braced the hand against the table so as not to accidently catch the bedding… again.

 

With Dara it was always quick, easy, and a little bit dirty. “Fuck, Dara…” He’d moan, free hand pawing at his head as he took several long quick drags – letting his mind get fuzzy with the buzzing sensation curling in the back of his brain with each rough burn.

 

Echoing his fantasy, Ed took deep ragged drags off his cigarette – the filter hot as it burned down quickly. His palm locked tighter around his hardness, damp with the first hints of his impending orgasm as he rolled his thumb hard over the tip with each rough stroke. When he wasn’t alone, he liked to stay close – that constant threat that his partner could tip him over the edge with the smallest movement, and the knowledge that he was completely under their control. Alone, he preferred to go hard and fast without the tease.

 

Taking a long last puff, he slid the dead end into the mouth of his empty can – satisfied by the soft hiss of it catching a few stray drops of beer. He closed his eyes once more and held back the smoke as long as he could, cradling his sac with the newly free hand and squeezing gently in time with his furiously paced strokes. Pain, hot burning pain forced open his mouth – letting out the light gray smoke remnants as he tipped over the edge. “Yeah… yeah…” He gasped, twisting his wrist and giving a gentle pinch to the tender skin. Hips bucking up into his own hand, warm wetness spilled over the top of his fist and against the cotton barrier of his undershorts.

 

After a long moment, gasping for air that felt suddenly stale and much too warm, he slid down on the pillows – letting himself bask in the afterglow. Not bad for a quiet afternoon alone.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.


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